


eventide (the aftermath that no-one cares about)

by Luneria2



Category: Terraria
Genre: Lowercase, Rebel AU, lapslock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:40:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27847030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luneria2/pseuds/Luneria2
Summary: years after the moon lord was defeated, the warrior in solar armor was crowned king of bastet. his lineage still rules bastet today, gripping the populace with an iron fist, a far cry from the gentle man the original king was.now, the people are angry. now the people are tired.perhaps that's all about to change.
Kudos: 1





	eventide (the aftermath that no-one cares about)

**Author's Note:**

> just a few things i probs should let you readers know before ny'all head in:
> 
> shoretetrae = this AU's softcore difficulty players  
> meadowrum = this AU's mediumcore difficulty players  
> highlander = this AU's hardcore difficulty players.

you were young when you first found Vioule hiding from her parents behind the waterfall that ran through your mountain. she wasnt as purple as she is now but she was still Vioule and being yellow didn't change that. 

she taught you how to swim with the promise that one day you'll meet again in the ocean. you promised her that you'll help her escape her parents so the ocean will be safe. you didn't plan on breaking that promise anytime soon. 

* * *

you'd set up a system with Vioule: every year in the spring months when the ice in your mountain had thawed enough that water would run down the spine of the rocky outcropping, the two of you would meet up in the basin of the waterfall. she would teach you to swim more and more, until you learned all you could in that tiny body of water nestled in your mountain.

"hey, i hate to say it, but i think we're going to have to use a larger body of water if you want to learn more," she broke to you, one day.

you stare back at Vioule.

"so what youre saying is--" you take a pause "--is that we gotta head to the ocean."

she averts your gaze.

"yes, we're heading to the ocean."

as much as you'd like the more practice space, you'd prefer to never step foot into the open sea again. if not because of your fear of oceans, then for the 'tetrae undoubtedly waiting for you at the shore, waiting with their cross faces and knives to hack away at your horns. 

but this is not about you. Vioule is doing this for you. she didn't need to help you. she doesn't need you. especially not with her family breathing down your neck like a bunch of rabid overbearing wolves.

"we don't need to go," you begin. "after all, your family's gonna be there too, and i'd hate for them to find out about you visiting me."

a tense silence passes, perhaps the first to come between the two of you. eventually, Vioule relents.

"you're right--" she kneels down by the water you're in and splashes you lightly "--i'm sorry that i forgot about your bad experiences with my kind." you splash her back, and laugh a breathless laugh.

"but you're not like the rest of your kind"

* * *

Vioule didn't show up the next day. and when she didn't come back for years, you began to worry. you couldn't let anything happen to her. and even if nothing bad happened to her, what if she made friends with someone else? you didn't want to be left behind. not by her. 

* * *

when you finally saw Vioule again, she was purple and everything was like new. 

“Barley sent me,” she says through clenched teeth. you want to ask what was wrong, but before you can do anything she pulls back her bangs to expose the moonglow growing from her forehead. 

“it hurts—“ she shook her head. 

“it really does.”

“what happened?” you want to ask, but you don’t want to pry either. she motions at the valley below you and blinks a couple of times.

“Barley’s a meadowrum but you can trust her. i know i do. she thinks we can find a reversal spell for soul corruption.”

“we?”

“yeah. we.”

you shouldn’t be so happy, you know that. her soul is being sapped away by the flowers and _you’re_ the one giddy over being included in a mission. you’re not even happy that you finally got to see her again. 

she's looking at you from her side of the train seat as you wage war with your conscience and you spare the chance to glance back. her eyes are red and watery and tired and you sit up ramrod straight at the sight. 

you can’t be there for her if you aren’t ready to be there for yourself. 

you heave a heavy sigh and deflate under her gaze. "listen, sti or not, you're still my best friend," you say after a moment of tense silence. "it'd be wrong not to help you."

"what?"

"what's wrong?"

"it's not like that"

So she's not your best friend. That's alright --

"soul corruption's a curse. there'd only be a reversal spell if it was magic in the first place," she explains with a clipped voice. 

Oh.

"so.." you take a pause, "someone did that to you?" "yes." she answers, looking straight at you, fire in her slit eyes. "and we'll make sure noone ever gets hurt like me again"

* * *

Barley fixes you with a firm look and pursed lips as you walk into the living-room-mixed-with-working-quarters in the apartment. Vioule’s grip on your hand tightens and you slouch a little, as if making yourself smaller would help against a meadowrum with magic. the saber she was polishing is left on her desk, the blade pointed at you. 

“From what Vioule spoke of, I expected someone a little more brave,” she muses, her eyes singling you out in the suddenly tiny room.

you want to leave.

you need to leave.

but who's gonna help Vioule if you do? you'd break your promise to help once you leave. so you stay, your grip on her hand tight. 

but perhaps you were too scared — or maybe too forward, you wouldn't know — because she hisses in pain under her breath and wrenches her hand away from your grip. your heart seizes as though you were the one with soul corruption worming its way through your veins. you want to say something but the silence is thick and suffocating and

you

don't

want

this. 

you don't want her hurt. she's been through enough as is.

images of flowers and dust flash across your vision and you recoil. _not on your watch she isn't_. you have to make this right. its the only way to help. you offer her your silent apology through your tear-filled eyes but she isn't looking at you anymore. she's looking at Barley. 

* * *

Barley’s voice cuts through the silent crowd of onlookers like a hot knife through butter and you stand at attention, back ramrod straight, the others in the crowd no different. 

though you frown slightly. something is off; no crowd stands like soldiers voluntarily. half-expecting answers, you look at Vioule, except her eyes are trained on Barley and you don't know why your face tightens the way it did — but you do. you just don't want to admit it. 

Breathe, you will yourself. 

You can't hold onto her forever.

you swallow your fears — even if it's only for that moment — and turn to face her. her hand finds its place around yours, cold like the waters she's from but warm like an embrace. and with that, the knots in your shoulders loosen and the pressure in your temples wavers. 

still you frown. with their statuesque stance and avid attention to Barley’s spirited speech, you’d take the crowd for puppets. you assume Vioule knows why they’re acting like that. after all, she does know far more than you ever will get to learn. you want to ask her this time, not just stare and hope, but Vioule’s eyes are upon you before you can even try. she blinks quizzically at your frown, then follows your line of sight back to the person she was gazing at only seconds ago. 

“oh, i thought i was the only one who noticed that”

you start at the sound of her voice. Vioule leans down a little -- you mind it only a bit, but only because she's so much taller than you -- and cups her frigid hands around your ear. 

“Barley's mantra is mind control,” she whispers behind her hand. 

_oh_

you almost want to jab a finger in her face and say you told her so, that Barley really is a bad person, that she's a bad person too for following her around like a lovesick puppy -- and you almost do -- but you catch yourself being petty, and you knuckle hard at your eyelids. Stop being so bitter. Stop overreacting. 

Vioule's fingers gently pry your hands from your face, and you want to call her a traitor, to call her out for leaving you for Barley, to scream at her for abandoning you, but you take a little too much comfort in her touches to care. 

* * *

you look too much like a highlander to pass as a meadowrum student, hooves hard to cover, horns too large to hide under hats — though knowing art students, comically-sized hats and dyed hair were probably the norm. you realize that pulls the plug on that mission idea. 

crap. that was one of your only leads. Vioule told you that rumours spread about a premiere meadowrum art school playing host to another underground rebellion, and uniting with them seemed like the perfect plan. “not much time left now. art students aren’t exactly known for their organizational skills... so you better get a plan to infiltrate them quick!” she instructed you.

of course, the mere fact that Shellaque is a meadowrum-only school would be a massive roadblock, not to mention your rebellion was pretty small too. looking through Barley’s list of contacts that she left on the table for you to peruse, you notice a name. 

Avery Clark Powell. Barley's friend of a friend who hangs around the art district. she's been sending money — money you have no idea how she gets considering she's an art student — to the safe house for a while now. that for which you've been eternally grateful since Barley lost her job, but she's a meadowrum and hangs around other artists in a shady part of town and you don't exactly wanna use dirty money. to be perfectly honest, you don't know what is the right thing to do anymore. a lead is a lead though, and you'd never know what'll happen until you pull on it. so pull you did. 

you return to the page with Avery's contact information, and scan it's contents until you find her riot-tag. there's a tiny note next to it in Barley's handwriting that reads: “Ah, good. She’s with the times.” chuckling at Barley’s remark, you unlock your phone and send her a message. 

_hey, avery! im a friend of barley’s and id like to talk to you about.. you know,_

_joining your after school club? if you know what i mean?_

half a minute later, she responds.

_You don't have to be so cryptic; No-one's going to be able to track us through Riot. Anyways, it might be a bad time to join. I caught wind that we got our location got leaked to the police, so it's not looking too good for us right now. Good luck in your endeavors, though._

you bite back the urge to feel disappointed -- not even at the fact that the rebellion at Shellaque might fail, but at the inevitable look on Vioule's face when you have to tell her that you couldn't unite with them.

_oh shoot! well hopefully y'all make it out okie.._

* * *

after breaking the news to Barley and Vioule, you wanted to sink into the earth and never reappear. even though they didn't look disappointed in you, you could feel it in their stare. when the two dismissed you, you sit at the fireplace in Barley's apartment, worming yourself deeper into the plush armchair and breathing in the dreamwood smoke flickering out from the fire. huh.. dreamwood smoke never smelled so sharp. wait what? before you register that the fire you've been smelling was most definitely not the dreamwood, Vioule bursts into the room. 

“fire. in the art district. we gotta go. Now!” she shouts, and you almost tumble out of your seat as you rush to get up. grabbing emergency supplies and shoving them in your bag, you glance over your shoulder into the other room. 

“hey Barley! Shellaque’s gonna burn down soon, too! we gotta help evacuate everyone, before it collapses!” you bark into the other room as you scramble to follow Vioule towards the school. 

an older meadowrum (perhaps a 4th year student?) is guiding the taut-faced students out and into the nearby forest when you get there. 

“hey, uh, can you take over for a quick sec?” they ask you, shakily.

“why?”

“i gotta do something.”

before you can question them further, they step away from the crowd of running teens and steel their shaky hands with a deep exhale -- and clench their fist around a rapidly forming ball of water. bigger and bigger, the ball grows, a second fist joining the first, until the water balls are so large their arms were weighed down. 

**_boom_ **

they clap their hands together. the sound echoes through the streets, and the students run a little faster. The resounding clap rained streams of water on the burning school, putting the fire out. the moisture they drew from the vegetation around the school permeated both the wooden frames of the building and the now humid air. some keep on running, most stop to look, but everyone's faces are gaunt with fear. transfixed by silent awe, you don't even notice the meadowrum fainting until they’re already on the ground. 

Barley arrives on the scene shortly after. she tries to give you a nod but is cut off by a hacking cough that almost makes you wish you could care about her, but she waves you off and goes back to providing first aid to the students injured in the fire. thankfully, most everyone made it out and into the nearby woods. injuries were minimal, but you could tell the kids were spooked. from between the brush and trees, you could almost make out the silhouettes of the police and elite mantra forces picking their way through the ruined school. noone wanted to make large movements.

as you make your way over to the meadowrum who put out the fire from earlier, you notice just how young these kids are. many of them you assume are freshmen, and they've just witnessed their home away from home burned to the ground. their tear tracks glint in the twilight of the forest, and your heart wrenches at the sight. Focus, you have to find out what happened. you shake your head and kneel down next to the kid from before's unconscious body

“hey kid--” you lightly smack the barely-younger-than-you student on the cheek “--wake up.” 

an exhaustingly tense moment passes before their eyes open.

“well, i had a feeling the king was onto us, but i sure didn't expect this,” they muttered as they gingerly get up.

“wait, the king ordered that?”

“yeah, and here i thought we were being sneaky.." they look away.

an awkward ambience fills the air. you fidget with the folds of your shirt and they seem very interested in the grass on the ground. then just as you were readying to get up and attend to the other students, they clear their voice in a cough that melds into the null rustling of the forest.

“oh! i’m Luna by the way; sorry that we meet like this,” they say, picking at the barrette at the back of their head. 

“Genny, and it’ll be okay.” you smile slightly. “i’ve never seen magic like that before!” 

“well, im mostly self-taught, but part of it's just genetics.” they make a vague gesture with their hand. 

“i see,” you say but honestly you really don't. “I guess that's just something only peeps with magic would understand, haha.”

  
  


the rebel base is getting packed. well, the treehouses y’all built in the hidden alcoves of the fallen isles were always kinda small, but lately the solar collectors where other rejected meadowrums cooked wild millet and sauteed the fish the freshwater shoretetras caught earlier in the day were filled with young students from Shellaque. though you're glad they could get their hot meals and a safe place to stay, you hate having to bum-rush the line just to get enough food for both you and Vioule. 

so when you finally escape with your millet-fish dinners intact, and some meadowrum has taken your spot at the pyre, you get the urge to push them out of your seat. you know that won't do anything to help your social image with these guys, not to mention hurt them if they fall, so you find an empty seat close by and reluctantly settle there. you pull out a pair of knives and was this close -- and see, your fingers were already touching -- to taking a bite of your fish, when you catch wind of that same meadowrum saying Vioule's name and date in the same sentence. the force of you turning around almost gives you whiplash, but the glare with the force of a million suns you direct at them more than makes up for the pain of your hair slapping your face. 

“You heard me. I'd date her just for the street cred,” they repeat. 

you wish you could unhear what you just heard, but noone in the camp had mind-erasure as their mantra. at least, not to your knowledge. unfortunately you would just have to deal with that image seared into your imagination forever.

“to be quite honest, i wouldn't expect Vioule to want anyone other than Barley,” you mutter. Vioule never had eyes for anyone else anyway. 

“Wow,” they exhale loudly, jostling their massive curls. “You serious?”

“havent you seen her face whenever she's around?”

“Oh..” 

“yeah, join the club”

a tense silence passes between the two of you. after what feels like an aeon-and-a-half of glaring from both parties, you shrink away under their intense stare. slouching a little, you offer an apology:

"sorry, we got off on the wrong foot there"

they kind of look at you funny, as if judging your intentions. now that you're not having a stare-down and that you can see them from the front, you notice their mountainrum features: a small fang peeks out from their lower lip, and their ears are softly pointed like not totally unlike yours. 

"we of highland descent shouldn't fight like this anyways," you try. "enough highlander and meadowrum lives were lost at the hands of the planeteers that we have a common enemy."

surprisingly, this is what gets their attention. "For a second, I thought that you were about to go on a rant like one of those highland grandparents on--” they puff up their chest and hold their head just a touch higher “-- respect and filial piety." 

"yeah!" you smile. “ i know they only mean the best but they're not very good at showing that"

“I wouldn’t say that they always know what’s best though,” they comment, and you nod in understanding.

“see, its nice to have a mountainrum friend who grew up with these traditions too!” 

“What do you mean?”

“well, uh Luna is uh,” and you take the moment to fidget with the folds of your shirt. “um its not my story to tell, but shes half meadowrum and half highlander too. it’s just that she doesn’t have the same culture because she was raised in Lea. err.. in the Sol castle to be specific”

“No I meant to ask--” they shake their head “--you consider me a friend?”

“well, yes! we have a common ground and we can talk about it comfortably so..” your voice trails off. 

“You must be very comfortable sharing that with someone whose name you don’t even know yet,” they remark, and your eyes go wide. in your anxious scrambling to placate the tension between the two of you, you overstepped and overshared. before you can start panicking though, they open their mouth again: “No, no its fine. I was going to introduce myself anyways. I’m Azalea, but you can call me Azzie for short.”

“and i’m Genny. its been uh, nice meeting you.. but its getting late and i should probs check up on Vioule,” you recover in what you hope was a smooth manner

“Valid. You go do that,” they say, and turn back around to continue their dinner.

after you bid Azzie a good night, you stumble into the bedroom you share with Vioule. the lights were off, and you wonder why until your eyes adjust and you see that Vioule hasn’t returned from the meeting she had with Barley yet. crawling under the threadbare covers, you stare out the open window at the night sky. the cicadas weren’t buzzing tonight, and you feel off without their familiar chatter. 

_gong_ **_gong GONG_ **

you stir from your unsleep at the sound of the meeting bell being tolled--

crying,

crumbling,

cracking,

coarse,

biting into your hands.

images of funerals, throwing dust into the ocean wind, flash across the back of your eyes. caught off guard, and taken aback by the daymare, you toss yourself out of the bed, and run on unsteady legs to the mead hall in the trees. 

inside, an anxious chatter fills the room. you catch snippets of conversation from the walk to the front of the room where Vioule is standing, and your heart almost seizes.

“what's going on?”

“i think its something big…”  
“i think its something bad”   
“I don’t believe we should fret. After all, it’d only make things worse”

**_boom_ **

Barley slams the scabbard of her saber on the hardwood floors, and immediately the crowd silences. she raises her lowered head and the fury in her eyes fills your heart with fear and oddly, determination. when she finally opens her mouth to speak, the crowd awaits her word with bated breath:

“King Sol has declared war on us”

* * *

when the great war ended — and all the fireflies and staves and the mages were laid down to rest, all those left behind were found again; there, noone could forget them. and those lives that bloomed in the crevices of the broken land went on nonetheless — they didnt need your help, but you felt better knowing you could watch over them.

of course you knew that she wouldnt make it — she was too burdened by the soul corruption, by the people who told her, no you won't change a thing — but that didn’t stop her; her will to care, her will to change, they were too strong for worry to pull down. so, you worried. you worried the side of your cheek and held her hair behind her head when she coughed up the flowers that knotted the insides of her throat, you worried in your unsleep until you cried just enough to feel empty but not enough to wake her up from her fitful sleep in the cot next to you, you worried over her right eye when the flowers started growing from there and you tried to help -- she needs the attention now more than ever -- but you have other things to worry about that were bigger than her, bigger than you. 

so when her soul finally gave out, and what was left of her body faded into moonglow-scented dust, you felt like your soul was gonna burst too. 

* * *

you keep a lighthouse lit inside your heart so someone can find their way home. _you_ just wish theyll get back before the beacon burns out. 

* * *

sometimes you wonder how it would've been if her soul wasnt corrupted and if someone did something to help her. sometimes you wonder if what you did even helped at all — but you already know the answer. 

you knew she wouldn't make it, but sometimes you wish she did because you see all the things that happened after the war that she would've been proud of, and all the things that people are doing because there's no way anyone is letting them suffer anymore — not after what happened to her, not after what happened to you. and sometimes the phantom sensation of someone smiling ghosts over your shoulder — but for all your effort — you don't remember _her_ smile. 

but you keep fighting in her name, in everyone's name, everyone who fell down in their own fight — no matter how long it takes — because your fight has to mean something. so when the war was finally over and all the treaties were signed and the king stepped down from the throne for good and for the better, you hadnt expected Barley to keel over in what was once the kings castle, coughing up blood. in the craze of mourning Vioule -- and here you still are -- you paid no mind to Barley and what she was going through herself. you barely register Luna rushing over to her side patting her unconscious face, anything to get a response. she feels for pulse but rises slowly a moment later with a blank look, her tears floating with her uncontrolled magic. 

"she's gone." 

in the next few days when old members of the mage court were tried for their crimes against humanity, the head of the science division admits to genetically modifying mantras for military use. you only know because Luna insisted you go and listen to their trials. for Barley, she said. among the evidence is a list of test subject profiles that the court projects into the air for all to see. as you stare at the seemingly unending list of meadowrum lab rats, a name strikes you like a sword through your gut, 

vervain hoarse: status: failed

phoebe star: status: escaped

_BARLEY MALT: STATUS: ESCAPED_

you run out of the courtroom trailing tears. funny, you thought that you'd outgrow that habit by now. funny, because runnings always all youve done. you run and you run, running until your legs give out, and then and there you scream. you scream curses at the the king, at the people who told others that it was fine to ignore the dying people, to ignore the people suffering in the kingdom of sunlight and gold. you scream and scream until you're tired of screaming, sobbing in the sand where you, Luna, and Barley tossed Vioule's dust into the sea. there was no need to cremate her when all that remained was dust already, you remember bitterly. 

  
  


.

.

…

the suns set when you get up, and you do it only because Luna's certainly more worried for you than she is doing paperwork. you dont want her to worry anymore. the war is over, and she deserves to sleep soundly. 

so you return to the house you share with Luna and a couple other former rebels (because you didnt want to feel alone again after all thats happened. and Luna, so eager to please the only authority figure left in her life, bought a modestly large building the moment she could use the money her "dear old father" left for her. her words, not yours.) Luna is waiting for you by the fireplace, tears fresh on her cheeks and you fall into her arms, crying the whole way down, down, down, down. down into the warmth you wish was Vioule's. but you know that thats not fair for Luna, and its not fair for yourself either. 

* * *

It's rare now, but every time someone mentions purple flowers or the new Bastetean flag that you've won — we've won — after the war, your soul tightens a little. You wish you weren't so selfish, that you could be happy because look at how much the world has changed — and you really are — but it's just so hard to be that strong leader everyone expects you to be when both your predecessor and your best friend are gone. Barley is gone. Vioule is gone. And both of them died for nothing.

You've gotta stop lying to yourself. You've gotta admit you're not okay. You haven't been for a while now.

* * *

You keep a lighthouse lit inside your heart so someone can find their way back. They paid you no mind, and you don't think they noticed, but they got home safe and that's all that matters.

* * *

  
to be perfectly honest, you really dont know all that much about anyone. you were so blinded by Vioule's glowing blue light that you never had eyes for somebody new. Oh how wrong of you to just ignore everyone else's feelings and troubles and live your life so self-centered.

* * *

none of us are okay. not you, not Avery, and certainly not Luna. oh Luna, oh Luna tries so hard to love in a sick sick world that just started to realize it needs help but isn't ready to ask for it yet. she's so willing to forgive but no one has the gall to apologise. you tell her that she doesn't owe them anything and she listens, so so eager to please, and you know thatd be her downfall one day but you can't find it in your heart to tell her. you're so selfish. your downfall is gonna be just that. 

sometimes you look at yourself in the surprisingly well-maintained mirror in the bathroom you share with Luna and Avery to work out the days old knots from when you couldn't bring yourself to feel, and all you see is sadness and anger. but this time, Avery is there, coming over with a wide-toothed comb. she's calm all the while, her motions sure and gentle and they make you wish it was Vioule. you almost start crying as you catch yourself being so so petty, because Avery is a person of her own and you can't keep comparing those you love with someone you once loved, because neither Avery nor Luna deserve to be compared to the dead woman who once held your heart.

"You know, I was once a copy cat," she mentions before you can start crying again. 

"what do you mean?" you ask, eager to distract yourself from your thoughts.

"Well, when I was a little girl, my parents told me that I was bound to have transmutation magic, as Dé was a shapeshifter and Ma could change the font of any writing she came across," she began. "And lo and behold, I manifested my perfect mimicry at around high school." 

"didn't Luna manifest her's way younger?"

"Yes, she did. Her magic was actually one of the reasons she was disowned."

"oh…" 

"She certainly does not talk much of her past with you around, no?"

Avery drops the comb, your hair now tangle free. She doesn't get up though, content to sit with you on the bathroom floor. 

"Returning to my copy cat story, though."

"yes, of course."

"Thank you, dear—" she takes a moment, as if considering her next words. you look at her expectantly. 

"…I met Luna at music night in my first year of Shellaque High. She was quiet then, before the fire of rebellion was lit inside her from all the years at the art school. My girlfriend was lead vocal and I was the chipmixer. We were fine, and the crowd thought so too, but it was not long before my copycat mind thought we were not. See, you know that I forge paintings from big name artists, no?”

you shake your head, though you always assumed that Avery was the one making those familiar looking pieces that Vioule took with her when she left the apartment in a stunning evening gown and high heels. Avery has a knowing look in her eyes, but continues anyway, "Well, then you would not know that I also copy songs. Of course, Phoebe's crowdpleaser of a voice would always cover that up, so no-one would notice me taking chord progressions from classical pieces. No-one else in Shellac really listened to classical either. Everyone at music night was either a part of the underground rebellion, or had knowledge of it, and for them, classical was a symbol for the bourgeoisie. None of us knew that Luna was the princess. No-one even knew what she was like before she was introduced to the rebellion! So when she came up to me after our set and asked how I knew about 'Weiss Amadeus Wolfheart', I was floored." 

"understandable."

"Yes, very much so," her voice trails off as she begins to say something you can't quite catch. 

"continue? please," you make a rolling motion with your hand, worried that you interrupted her. Avery sighs. 

"I want to get to the point, but I did not want to hurt your feelings. But this is the truth and I want to help you and I will; I know Luna. She is my best friend, and now she's yours too. But you were too blinded by Vioule's light to notice that she loves you. And now you're too blinded by your sadness to see that things around you are getting better. Luna is moving on from her father. I can pick up a paintbrush again without crying. Your emotions are valid, but they're feelings and they do not dictate your life. Just like how Vioule did not control you."

Avery looks at you expectantly but you have no words. you are only acceptance as you catch Avery's hands and hold them tight like you tried with Vioule all those years ago. she doesn't pull away. instead she returns the embrace with all her love and warmth, warmth that Vioule never had and never took. the two of you, sitting on the bathroom floor, neither want to get up nor willing to let this moment to.

from the next door over, Luna enters the bathroom with kerchiefs, probably alerted by the stilllness in a house usually filled with the sounds of your crying. She gasps softly at the scene, alerting you both to her presence. her eyes shift between you and Avery, Avery and the floor, and from you to her own shaking hands. She turns to leave, and your heart seizes as though someone has gripped it with their ice cold fingers. 

Oh Luna, Luna we both love you so so much, please understand. This isn't what you see and I'm sorry you think that way, you plead inwardly as you wrench your gaze up from your fingers wrapped around Avery's, and break the hold so you can hurriedly wave her back before she leaves. she stills in her movements, standing at the threshold between the bubble you created in the bathroom and the outside world that existed beyond that door. slowly, as if she was moving through treacle, Luna turns to fully face you. you look her in the eyes hoping she'd understand but she looks back with a glare that's all cold, the kind of glance you'd expect from her father, the normally firey red warmth swallowed whole by jealously. Time slows to a crawl. The heartbeats in between each moment like the stitches in the unfinished scarves you planned on giving out when the war was over, clipped and tight. the two of you stare, unnoticing of the way Avery's lips tremble, as if the aching words she wanted to say are tumbling forth like the melting ice of spring — slow as molasses but a waterfall in the end. she lets go of one of your hands and stands between you and Luna, breaking the silent standoff. It's her that speaks up, not you nor Luna, despite the overwhelming desire to make things right. 

"Luna, please listen. You are loved here, and never will we let you go. These are trying times; we've suffered so much but we'll get through this together."

"Avery, I don't know who to trust anymore."

"Luna, Luna. It's going to be fine. You're going to be fine. You can trust me, for I am telling the truth. you can trust Genny for they love you just as much as I do, if not more. And please, you can trust in yourself that you'll be fine. Because you will be.

your eyes never departed from her face, even as Avery took her stance between the two of you. even as Avery started talking, you never looked away. But as the waterfall of longing and loving words that streamed from Avery's mouth dies, Luna's eyes return to you. 

"is this true, Genny?"

you nod, slowly lifting up to her your other hand. the cold leaves her gaze, warmth replacing the envy bit by bit — as if the fear of rejection became smoke wafting away. she stands by the doorway, her lips trembling in the most open display of uncertainty you've seen on her face. her fears might've disappeared but she hasn't accepted your offer yet. reluctant to make a move, she almost shies away from the bathroom. before she can though, you move your still outstretched hand a bit, smiling as you ask her. 

"do you want this?"

and for once, it's your words that provokes a reaction. she walks over hesitantly, her steps still unsure, but the bubble you created from the stillness in the bathroom pops with her presence. sound comes rushing back, the bustle of the restored Art District a welcomed thrum of intermingled heartbeats and storylines. you finally feel connected to it all as Luna gingerly wraps her arms around the both of you and time speeds back up again. For the very first time, you aren't distant, detached. For the very first time, you feel loved.

**Author's Note:**

> a few bits of eventide trivia for all ny'all nerds
> 
> 1.) i originally decided that shoretetraes were easy-going, charismatic characters because of the way terraria players approach the softcore difficulty. they only lose their gold, so it shouldn't matter all too much if they die. in the same way, most mediumcore players are slightly more aggressive, due to the fact that they lose everything they had in their inventory upon death. meadowrum are the same. moreover, their unique ability to use mana became a AU plotpoint only because i thought it'd be cool. hardcore characters die for good, as so eloquently stated by the game itself, so i decided that highlanders die most often due to their poor living conditions.


End file.
